Lisa gets in position. "Come on," she says, and Michael lays on her.
"Let¹s Get It On" by Marvin Gaye plays, but I go to the stereo and skip the CD; don¹t want them to have too much fun. Jealousy...? Couldn¹t be. Well, maybe just a tinge. Only natural. "Heart-shaped Box" by Nirvana; the abortion song. Yipe -- too morbid, though it does rock. "Bliss" by Tori Amos; ehn.. groovy, but. Shit, just find something.
They don¹t seem to care, however. Too engrossed in eachother, in the moment. Being pretty silent, actually. I light one of the cigarettes, move around to the left of the bed and snoop: Michael is on top. They¹re, like, staring into one another¹s eyes, like they¹ve, I don¹t know, known eachother forever or at least longer than this evening. Not really moving. And then, he starts to fuck her. Shifting her, pushing her forward on the bed a little with each buck of the hips. She takes it, legs wrapped Œround his, hands on his back then his butt, grabbing him, assisting somehow. "Harder," she craves, and he fucks her harder, his cock pistoning in and out of her womanhood. She rubs her feet up and down his legs, her hands trying to be all places at once along his backside, and he¹s not going to last. She seems to sense this, and slows the pace a bit. "Ooh, no, don¹t come just yet.." They hold the position, steadily, Lisa doing her best not to move, knowing if she does -- one insignificant twitch -- anything will send him over the edge; it just feels too good. Michael has bitten his lip, to prevent the premature, but not seems to be ok.
Reluctantly, cautiously, he slips out of her. She leaves him be, a moment, watching him compose himself; a gratified smile, that she¹s been proven far too much to handle all at once. What was it -- two whole minutes? He never had that problem with me. Of course, cocaine never protracted anyone¹s release, either; it only heightens, never dulls. And for a man, anyway, that can be a good thing or a bad thing and occasionally both. What do I mean.. I mean, he¹s already so worked up already, add to that horny, and you¹ve got a pretty potent combination, there. Unless you practice yoga, or some sort of mind-over-matter new age metaphysical... higamajoo.. chances are, it¹ll get the better of you. Nothing wrong with that. I mean, even though the woman may want to keep going, and the man can¹t help himself, it¹s a compliment and shouldn¹t be taken as some kind of disorder. Unless, he finishes in five, and thinks it¹s all over; that¹s insulting. But, that¹s also the beauty part of men: guaranteed orgasm. It¹s why they compare sex to pizza. Women, it gets a bit convoluted. Not so easy to come, except in rare cases (and, I consider myself one of the lucky 6 %), but more often than not some major doing is needed to aid the female come.
Lessee... how far off track have I gotten....?
Lisa has moved on top of Michael, careful with her body parts. Goddamnit. I¹m horny. Are we supposed to be taking turns? He¹s my husband, after all, and... now, I sound possessive. But, hey -- I had her, who¹ll be here in the morning, anyway, huh?, and he needs his fun. Oh, just copulate and get it over with, already.
She extends a hand behind her, my way. I¹m there. "Put him in me." I smoke, pore a few things over in my mind; should I? Sooner, the better. I gently take hold of his cock, guide it to her opening. Rub the head -- which is kind of pale from having come once, already (why do they do that?) -- against her pussy, a little, then I wipe her moisture off his dick and lick the fingers I used to do so and replace her juices with my saliva. Extra lube..? So, he can take some of me with him? Don¹t know. Put him in her.
I start crying, a little, for no reason that I can rationalize the second it occurs. Feel hypocritical, and wierd; what¹s up with me? Michael groans as he enters Lisa, and puts his hands on her asscheeks, and she immediates starts pumping and gyrating her hips, getting him acquainted with her folds and walls and all. I take a step back and watch the two of them fuck, clear the tears, smoke some more. "Enjoy the Silence" by Depeche Mode plays, which strikes me as kind of ironic since I didn¹t put it on and hadn¹t put anything on for a while and I was enjoying it. But, I don¹t make any effort to end the song or play anything else.. just look at them, listening to the sound of their humping, his skin against her¹s as she swallows the length of his cock into her vagina - raising her hips, slamming them back down - raising them up, slamming them down - over and over, moaning as he fucks her or she fucks him, thrusting his hips so his stiff penis meets each of her bounces.
Soon, Michael climaxes. He reaches down and pulls himself out of her, and a half-second later shoots his load onto the small of her back; it is liquidy, in great amount. I don¹t bother with an ashtray -- just set the cigarette on the dresser, conveniently not anywhere near cloth or paper, and not rolling, and dash over to the bed. I am behind them, again, my legs spread, knees bent to either side of his legs. My hands are on Lisa¹s shoulders. I lick my husband¹s runny cum off her. Without swallowing, I then move around her, perch atop Michael¹s chest, almost zero space between myself and Lisa, and we french kiss. She finds this amazingly kinky, and spontaneous, and just a teensy bit considerate, I guess, and she accepts the kiss, licking fresh, warm sperm from my tongue. I lick back, feeding her, smearing it across her lips, our lips, sharing him, sucking tongues; whenches in mad heat. I need to get-off, now.
"I need to get-off, now."
Lisa just smiles and says, "Do you?"
I nod, without trying to seem desperate, which I am, terribly, mostly thinking about the weaping shit that hit me out of the blue a second ago and how at least if I¹m in the throws of passionate lovemaking -- no, let¹s call it sex, instead; there¹s a difference -- and start crying again it might make more sense. I don¹t trust myself, at the moment.
"What do you need?"
"Eat my pussy."
"On your back, then."
I¹m there. Michael and Lisa both get themselves down between my thighs. She moves her hair aside, over her shoulder, so I can see her profile. No need for that, just get busy licking. Michael knows. He¹s first out of the gate, face low down; only his nose and eyes are visible to me, meaning the rest of him, what I can¹t see, is muff diving like I asked for. That¹s the most important part, which Lisa doesn¹t seem to understand. Til she does, because Michael¹s tongue wedged in the tight yet loose within of my cunt is pretty hard to miss, and she gets cheek to cheek with him. They take turns, trading licks, doing the deed, making me squirm. A good squirm. Good ones let your partner -- their friend, too, in this case -- know they¹re doing what they¹re doing correctly and well, and please don¹t stop, this can only get better the more you practice. So, practice: lick it. Suck it. Bite it, even, hell. It¹s all good. They know it¹s good, because I let them know. Not with words, don¹t feel much like talking, especially. But, with how I can¹t just lay still, like a board, like someone who doesn¹t realize how lucky she is to be this multi-orgasmic, and just lays there waiting for something, that isn¹t going to happen no matter how hard one or two people try to give her that powerful, warm, giddy explosion that erupts inside and continues to erupt (in me, I¹m saying) a good three minutes. Words aren¹t necessary, then, I don¹t think: nothing substitutes a woman moaning and thrashing herself in ecstacy, the ecstacy you¹ve given her; not a hundred "You know you want it"(s), or "Yeah, right there"(s), or even "Oh yes!"(s). Well, maybe a few of those...
"Cut!"
Sorry... sorry, what??
"Jaid. This is the man of your dreams. You¹ve been in love with him forever, and just because he¹s a terrorist and blows up buildings in his spare time, he¹s not a bad person. It makes you even hornier for him. Please, show us that."
What does being in love have anything to do with how horny you are, here? In this place. Where am I? Got the lights. Got the camera. The crew. More crew. No closed sets today. Maybe the next one. Who cares. I¹m disoriented for just a very few moments, but in keeping with usual and customary policies and egos noone waits. Tony the Terrorist flips me over, pushes his cock slowly in my anus, the rubber of his condom hurts because he has forgotten to put any lubricant on it. Director says Lift your leg (so the audience will see his balls slap against her ass). Director says Pull her hair. Talk to him, talk dirty. I can do it on a dime, having an extensive obscene vocabulary at my disposal as I do. I am articulate.
